


Adrenaline Rush

by marcobodtsotherhalf (savvyBibliosoph)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (Not by name. But try spot him.), Biker! AU, Drabble, Eren was here, Implied Relationship, M/M, Marco makes loud noises and not the good kind, One-Shot, motorcycles go vrooommvroooommm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyBibliosoph/pseuds/marcobodtsotherhalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>adrenaline rush: a sudden burst of energy from an increase in the hormone and neurotransmitteradrenaline, esp. increased heart rate and blood pressure, perspiration, bloodsugar, and metabolism.</p>
<p>or, alternatively:</p>
<p>Jean is a douche, but not as big a douche as he could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrenaline Rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFaceofaMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFaceofaMouse/gifts).



> This is a little something I wrote inspired by thisismouseface's biker!au picture, while they were drawing it.  
> (And then it took me ages to actually read over and correct it enough to be satisfied with it. Woops.)
> 
> (thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/80340977100/nightstepping-started-talking-to-me-about-biker)

The scent of leather and cologne was strong with Jean’s arm wrapped awkwardly around Marco’s shoulders; he was a couple of inches taller than usual because of his thick heeled boots, putting him at Marco’s eye level for once. 

Marco had his head averted slightly away, due to the cigarette Jean was smoking. He didn’t mind the smell so much as he was overly cautious about the hazards of breathing in the smoke. He felt he was rightful to be wary as his grandmother was well on her way out, and it probably had a bit to do with her chain smoking habits. To be honest he was surprised her lungs were still functioning… well, mostly functioning. ‘ _Crazy old lady_.’ (He still thought fondly of her, despite her occasionally questionable habits, chain smoking being only one of those.)

Despite his attempts at avoiding the smoke that curled from the cigarette, he still tried to maintain a decent level of eye contact to be polite, as otherwise Jean would whine for his attention, and poke at his cheek like a child.

Jean was walking with Marco around campus, they were lazily following no particular paths- in fact they were quite literally not following the paths. Instead walking across the slightly damp grass, just chatting and letting their feet take them where they wandered because they had nothing better to do apparently. 

And because Jean had been getting stir crazy sitting in his dorm with Marco. 

_And_ because he’d been itching for a cigarette for hours (Credit goes to Marco for convincing him to start cutting back on his bad habits). 

Jean looked like a total douche with his sunglasses on at night, cigarette between his thin lips, and his hair all styled, strutting with his arm around Marco like the peacock he was. The only good thing, Marco thought dryly, was at least no one was really around at this time to see him looking like a major douche. 

Jean was currently bragging loudly, with sweeping gestures of his arms, about his “sweet ride”, his precious baby: his midnight blue Harley (which was all Marco had actually gotten from Jean’s rants, as he wasn’t really that big on motorcycles). 

“I should take you for a spin on my baby, Sugar.” Jean glanced over to Marco, cigarette dangerously close to slipping from his smirking lips as he spoke. 

Marco could only gape at him in horror.

“You’re kidding- oh god, you’re not kidding. No Jean.” 

Jean lowered his sunglasses with his free hand, his golden eyes still somehow managing to make Marco weak at the knees even in the low light of the street lamp they’d just passed. 

Marco bit his lip indecisively for a brief moment, almost swayed, before putting his foot down, “No.” 

Jean’s lower lip jutted out- and he had to quickly fumble to catch his cigarette before it fell. 

Marco scowled at him, trying not to show he was softening, “ _No._ ” 

Jean whined softly and pitifully in the back of his throat. 

“If you get me killed I will haunt your ass.” Marco grumbled, and Jean tightened his hold, grinning in triumph, before pressing a smoky kiss to Marco’s cheek. 

“You won’t regret it, babe.” He winked, turning their direction to head for where Jean had his bike stored. 

\--  
Marco stood with his arms crossed, pouting pointedly, rubbing at his arms as though he was cold, and not just incredibly nervous. He watched as Jean zipped up his leather jacket over his singlet, briefly mourning the loss of the view of the fabric stretched across his chest. Jean moving like he is about to hop on his bike, before Marco stops him in his tracks.

“I am not sitting behind you while you smoke like a chimney, Jean.”

Jean merely rolls his eyes, dropping his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. From his breast pocket he produces a packet of tooth picks. Placing one between his teeth, and the rest back away, he grins cheekily, “Better?”

Marco doesn’t bother to reply.

 

The bike looked way bigger now that he actually had to get on it. Additionally Marco had kind of been trying not to look directly at it as though that would make it just disappear or get smaller and less terrifying or something. He continued to dither about nervously as Jean straddled it confidently, its engine already purring away between his thighs, waiting for Marco to climb on behind him.

“No-no helmets?” Marco hedged. God, if his mother ever found out about this she would kill him. And if he died tonight on Jean’s bike she would still somehow find a way to kill him. 

“Pffff, we’ll be fine, I’m only taking you for a spin around the block.” Jean revved the engine as though that would make the prospect of the trip more enticing, when instead it just made Marco jump and stumble back slightly. “Come on Marco, trust me, I won’t let anything happen to you. Just get on, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride.” He attempted a cheesy wink, which looked more like an involuntary twitch.

Marco sighed, but did awkwardly clamber on behind Jean, resting his hands lightly on the other man’s shoulders, a respectable distance between them. Which made Jean snigger, “Babe, put your arms around my waist if you don’t wanna fall off.” 

Terrified at the idea Marco was quick to slip his hands around Jean’s waist, edging closer, a blush warming his cheeks against the cool night air with how he was pressed against Jean’s back now, he could feel the shift of the blond man’s muscles as he stretched. 

“Ready?” Jean’s voice was almost a purr now as he glanced half over his shoulder at Marco who was perched nervously behind him, but at least not trembling anymore.

“Yeah,” the warmth breath against the back of his neck made Jean shiver, and he rolled his shoulders once more before revving the engine, and tearing his bike out of the parking lot with a loud squeal of tires against the asphalt. Marco’s holler of surprise making him burst into laughter so hard he nearly choked on his toothpick. 

“Youuuuuu diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!” Marco screamed in his ear, grabbing handfuls of Jean’s jacket, and pressing himself even closer to Jean, thighs squeezing more snuggly on either side of his butt.

“Such a potty mouth.” Jean grins, knowing he is the biggest hypocrite, his mouth being one of the dirtiest things around, take that as you will. 

Marco hasn’t got the nerve to give a comeback as he’s buried his face in Jean’s shoulder, hands sliding up Jean’s chest to get a better grip.

“You alright back there?” Jean asks, still grinning, though there is a hint of concern evident in his voice now. He’s unable to turn around to properly check out Marco, but the nod he receives allows him to feel more confident about turning back to look at the road and leaving Marco to gather himself.

He’s slowing down a little, and he can feel Marco slowly start to relax against his back, hands still just as tight in their grip, but his body is losing some of the tension. 

He knows when Marco’s peeked a look again, because he hears the soft gasp, and feels how Marco somehow manages to shift even closer to him, though he swore there was not a gap between them before. 

“Aren’t we going too fast?” Marco asks between gritted teeth, feeling as though the second he loosens even a single muscle- including in his mouth, he’ll fall off the back of the bike.

Jean tries not to be affected by the fact that Marco’s lips are so close to his ear in order for his voice to be heard over the engine and the wind. It doesn’t work. “Sorry, did you say you wanted to go faster?” Jean asks, picking up speed slightly because he is an asshole, and because he wants to see if Marco can get any closer than he already is. 

“NOOO!” Marco shrieks, making Jean wince, and he starts to feel a little bit bad, till Marco bursts into nervous giggles, but relaxes even further, “I’m going to die tonight, aren’t I? I’m going to become road paste, and they won’t be able to distinguish our bodies apart.” Okay, so possibly just because he’s resigned to his fate. 

Jean scoffs, “I’ll have you know I am going under the speed limit,” hoping Marco hasn’t got the guts to check over his shoulder at the speedometer.

Marco doesn’t dispute his claim, but he can feel the sceptical gaze on him. 

 

Marco hasn’t realised how far they’ve travelled from campus till they go through a tunnel- the closest of which leads on to the fucking highway. Despite his sudden fear and his own scream of terror echoing in the enclosed space, the air feeling like its wrapped tighter around them, the view is rather beautiful. Lights blurring as they flash past them, lined along either side of the tunnel walls. There’s graffiti on the walls, but they pass too fast for Marco to read any of it. And the tunnel looks orange from the lights glowing, like a sunset around them.

Suddenly a thought hits Marco, and he’s almost hesitant to ask, but…

“JEAN CAN YOU EVEN SEE PROPERLY WITH YOUR SUNGLASSES ON?”

Jean replies immediately, “AHAHAHA… _NOPE_.”

“Ohhhh my gooooOOODDDDD.”

Marco whines and hides his face again, while Jean cackles like a maniac.

\--

When they finally slow to a stop back on campus grounds, Marco jumps off with weak noodle legs, and nearly stumbles to the ground. Luckily Jean manages to grab his arm and steady him. 

Jean takes off his glasses and hooks them over the top of his shirt, rolling his bike back into its spot.

Marco is sniffling a little and wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper when Jean turns around from properly situating his bike, and he’s over to Marco in a second, grabbing his cold freckled face between his palms and looking into Marco’s watery eyes.

“Are you crying?” he asks, feeling horrible.

Marco sniffles again, “No,” disbelieving Jean raises an eyebrow sceptically, and Marco says softly, “It was just the wind making my eyes water, and my nose run. I had nothing to protect my face from the wind you know.” He delivers a not so gentle punch to Jean’s side. 

Jean still hasn’t let go of his face, “If you’re sure…”

Marco pouts at him, “Yes, I’m sure, I wasn’t _that_ scared. You don’t have to worry.” 

Jean spits out his toothpick, and Marco nearly protests, but then Jean’s tilting Marco’s head slightly down, because Marco’s standing up on the curb, and pressing a kiss to Marco’s lips. His hand moving to hold the back of Marco’s head gently, fingers stroking the soft, short hair back there. 

Marco feels tingles run down his spine at the sensation and shuffles closer so he can drape his arms over Jean’s shoulders and kisses fiercely back. Even if Jean does taste more like cigarettes than gum at the moment not even that can deter him right now. He shivers as Jean’s hand slips under his shirt, leather and skin cold against his back. 

Jean tries to move closer, as best he can with their uneven footing, whining when Marco tugs on his hair, trying to step backwards and then almost pulling them both to the ground when Jean stumbles at the curb. 

They detangle just long enough for Jean to step up, then they’re back together, closer than before. 

Jean’s got a handful of Marco’s ass, and Marco is sucking and biting at Jean’s lips before they realise where they are, because _some asshole_ passing by crows, “Get a room!” 

Jean give the guy a middle finger in his approximate direction, for a few defiant seconds of holding Marco closer, before pulling back reluctantly. The string of spit connecting their mouths breaking, though they're still close enough to feel the warm puff of each other's breath. 

“Wanna go back to mine now?” Jean asks, eye’s half lidded, face flushed from the cold and their brief activity, his hair wildly messed from the wind – in fact Marco’s sure he looks the same right now. Marco doesn’t even hesitate to say yes (“ _Fuck yes_.”) before grabbing the belt on Jean’s jeans and dragging him by the hips, stumbling all the way to Jean’s room. 

 

For the third night in a row Jean’s neighbours submit noise complaints.


End file.
